Dancing Girl
by runawaygoddess
Summary: The tapestry unrolls in one fluid motion, unwrapping a young woman, dressed all in black silk, painted over with red symbols, a white veil covering her face. Her eyes are closed, her head resting gently on one arm, wrist extended out, above her head. The musicians do not play. Then a light tinkling sound winds its way around the room. Zutara AU.


**disclaimer:** the characters in this story do not belong to me.

_**Dancing Girl**_

* * *

She broke the surface of the pool of water headfirst, mouth gasping, lungs craving, chest heaving for air. The warm water of the hot spring ran down and off her body, cooling against her dark skin in the cold mountain air. She waded to the edge of the hot spring, still breathing hard, and snatched up her ragged towel from the rocks. She stepped out of the water and dried herself off, until she was clothing in nothing but her skin under the moonlight. She reached for the crumpled pile of dark blue silks that were tossed haphazardly on the rocks next to the towel and slides the smooth fabric over her body. The fabric is cool to the touch and then warms against her skin until if feels like she's wearing nothing at all. She wraps her wet hair around, twisting it into a bun on the top of her head, tying it off with a leather cord, and slips her feet into black leather slippers. She makes sure her clothes are in order, tossed the towel over one shoulder, and climbs down the rocked side of the hot spring pool and starts heading back to camp. She can hear the revelry before she sees it. Her caravan of her friends has emptied out into the forest. There is a campfire, and Ty Lee is doing back bends and walking on her hands around the flames. Every so often she flips and does an incredible feat of flexibility that brings cheers from the crowd of their fellow performers. Even Mai, the Queen of Swords, looks mildly amused. Katara runs back to camp, tugging her wet hair down and snatches up a tambourine. She raises it above her head and dives into the firelight, kicking off her shoes. That first beat of her hand on the drum, making the tiny symbols crash, sends her and Ty Lee into the rhythm. She twists, hair flying out, hips swaying, feet twirling through the dusty forest floor, head thrown back in laughter as the musicians around the fire pick up their instruments and start to play. Soon everyone is on their feet, dancing and laughing. Katara can feel the heat of her fellows around her, their joy radiating from them and infecting her like a drug. She has never once regretted leaving her tiny village home for this life. Because this is the life where she sees the world instead of sitting at home waiting to be married off and trapped into motherhood. This life, with this caravan of people, laughing and dancing and performing amazing feats all over the world, this is the life that she always wanted.

* * *

The next day the troupe travelled into the Fire Nation. At the boarder they were informed that smiling, laughter and other forms of merriment were outlawed and punishable by death. Ty Lee looked horrified and asked one guard how anyone could be happy without smiling. The guard just stared at her until Mai pulled her back. Katara asked the reason for the law.

"The Fire Lord has suffered great losses and has not smiled in many years. His people do not wish to be happy if he is not, as so the law was passed in his honour years ago."

The streets of the Fire Nation were silent as the colourful caravan rolled through. People paused outside their houses to watch them pass, questioning looks in their eyes. Ty Lee was having trouble restraining herself from skipping down the streets, cackling gleefully like she always did. Mai was having no trouble fitting in here. Katara walked next to the caravan somberly. She kept her head bowed. Then, when they found and inn to stay the night in, Katara sought out Aunt Wu, the fortuneteller.

"I don't like it here," she said. Aunt Wu nodded.

"The air here hangs heavy," the old woman said sagely. "Happiness can only be suppressed for so long before something breaks inside oneself."

Katara looked around at her friends. Ty Lee had visibly begun to droop and even Mai, who barely ever cracked a smile, seemed more gloomy than usual.

"Then let us go to the palace and see if we cannot convince the Fire Lord to change the law."

"And how do you propose we do that, child?" Aunt Wu asked, although the frown on her face told Katara that she already knew. Katara smiled dangerously.

"We will propose a bet."

And so the next day the troupe put on their most colourful clothes and went dancing and singing down the street, joyful at the tops of their voices.

* * *

When they are arrested and hauled before the Fire Lord in their colourful garb Katara is surprised to see a ring of fire, wall to wall, separating the Fire Lord from his court. She thinks that this is a ridiculous practice and longs to empty the water in all the decorative vases in the room on the flames and force him to walk his own streets and see his people. Aunt Wu is elected speaker for the group. Katara watched the silhouette of the Fire Lord because they cannot see his face through the flames and the red curtain that shrouds him from view. Finally, a member of his delegation relays his answer to them.

If they succeed in making him smile, a man who has not felt happiness for almost his whole life, then they may leave the Fire Nation with their lives and he will rescind the law. If they fail they will all be publicly executed as examples of what happens to those who go against the Fire Lord's word.

Katara clenches her fists and rolls her eyes but manages to keep silent. The Fire Lord has given them the rest of the day to prepare entertainment for after the nights banquet. Katara spends the whole day thinking about what she should do for her dance.

* * *

The troupe is not invited to dinner. After dinner they are escorted to a large hall, similar to the throne room. The Fire Lord sits in a throne on a raised dais, looking down at them all imposingly. His court lines the walls around them, just as imposing, but also much less important. Katara looks to the Fire Lord and is surprised to see that he is so young. She wonders how one so young can be so cynical. He stares down at them all through narrowed golden eyes. One side of his face is badly scarred. Katara supposes that the scar makes him more imposing to his enemies, but she finds it more intriguing than anything else. She rolls her shoulders back and spots a tapestry hanging on the wall. She slips away and cuts off two guards before they can leave, inquiring about where she can get a tapestry. They send a few palace servants off to fetch one for her and Katara retreats to the back of the hall to watch the show. Everyone is impressed by Mai and Suki's knife throwing and bladed fan juggling except the Fire Lord. Ty Lee, the most acrobatic of the troupe pulls a series of highflying feats that have the sternest looking courtiers biting their nails and laughing in relief when she lands safely on two feet, grin in place. But the Fire Lord remains immovable.

The guards tap Katara on the shoulder. The servants are back with her tapestry. She leaves the hall with them and paces nervously outside until Aunt Wu pokes her head out and tells her to prepare. Katara looks her costume over. She is dressed all in black silk with gold bells wrapped around her ankles and wrists. Her feet are bare, as well as her arms, stomach and legs, all painted with red symbols and swirls. Her hair is loose, pinned back under a sheer white veil that covers her face, also painted with red.

* * *

The doors to the hall open and the musicians of the troupe have their instruments poised and ready, but the dancing girl is no where to be seen. Perhaps she has become fearful for her life and stolen away into the night.

The Fire Lord does not show any outward surprise at this, but he had been hoping to see the whole troupe before he had them all killed.

The only people outside the door are a pair of guards holding a rolled up tapestry hoisted up between them on their shoulders. The guards enter the room and place the tapestry on the floor. They kneel before the Fire Lord and bow their heads in respect. One retreats to the side of the hall. The other gives the tapestry a light push before he does the same.

The tapestry unrolls in one fluid motion, unwrapping a young woman, dressed all in black silk, painted over with red symbols, a white veil covering her face. Her eyes are closed, her head resting gently on one arm, wrist extended out, above her head. The musicians do not play. Clearly they are confused by this entrance. The Fire Lord resists the urge to raise an eyebrow at this. Then a light tinkling sound winds its way around the room.

The woman, eyes still closed, has done nothing more than move her wrist, and the whole room cannot move their eyes from her. Eyes still closed the girl slowly sits up, leading with her chest, back arched, fingers trailing across the floor. Her head falls back to reveal the long, smooth curve of her throat. Her hair, shining and dark under the white veil, falls down her slender back in a waterfall of curls. In the same, slow, controlled way she raises her body completely off the floor until she is standing up, arms extended out, on tiptoe. The acrobat from her troupe leaps forward and hauls the tapestry away. Then slowly, she turns, arms coming together across her body, bells around her wrists and ankles gently chiming, and her eyes open. Somehow, even without seeing, she has navigated herself right in front of him, just scant feet away from his throne. He feels indignant at first that this dancing girl has the nerve to come so close to him. Then she opens her eyes and he is momentarily lost in a sea of blue, clear, determination. But something else makes him almost catch his breath in his throat. Something much more subtle and sultry. The dancing girl crosses one leg behind the other and bows deeply. Then she straightens up, skips forward quickly and she is half way up the steps of the dais before anyone can stop her.

Guards surge forward, but he raises a hand and they freeze in place. The girl has stopped halfway, one foot a step higher than the other, her arms outstretch in front of her, palms up. He looks down his nose at her and, _the nerve of this girl_, she offers up a sultry smirk.

"Will you join me, my lord?" she asks. Her voice is quiet, dipped in honey, but it echoes through the hall and the courtiers cannot hold back their gasps. The Fire Lord, Zuko, ignores the gasps of surprise from the Court and stands up. He descends the stairs slowly, not taking her hands but she does not lower them. Instead she walks down the steps backwards, hands still outstretched until they are both on level ground. Only then does he take her hands and she draws him out to the center of the floor.

"My lord, I hope you realize that I fully intend to win this bet," she said softly, looking up at him through thick lashes. He doesn't speak or move. She laughs quietly and spins away from him abruptly. As she spirals across the floor she pulls the veil off, letting her long, chestnut brown hair fan out around her. She tosses the veil to the side and whirls by the musicians. One of them tosses her a tambourine. She catches it deftly and spins to a halt, her whole body rigid and loose at the same time. Relaxation laced with alertness. Zuko watches her closely, eyes raking over her lithe body.

She stands still, one foot slightly extended in front of the other, tambourine hanging loosely at her side, head bowed, eyes closed. When she moves again it is only to rattle the tambourine. The heel of her hand meets the drum of the tambourine above her head and she shifts her weight, sliding forward onto her extended foot. She rattles the tambourine again and moves smoothly, like water, across the floor, creating an intoxicating beat. From the sidelines the acrobat started bobbing back and forth on the balls of her feet until finally it became too much for her. She let out a joyous whoop and catapulted herself onto the dance floor with a series of flips and dizzying spins. And suddenly the two are whirling around the floor, dancing to music that only they could hear, heads thrown back, laughing.

Slowly the musicians began to play, taking up a lively beat that the courtiers found it impossible not to move along to. In heavy silks and brocades the gallery swayed in time to the beat. And all the while Zuko stood in the center of the room, watching the dancing girl spin around him like a whirling dervish. Suddenly she spun away and tossed the tambourine through the air. Zuko spotted his uncle, General Iroh, in the gallery, dancing. He caught the tambourine with a slightly guilty look at his nephew. Then the acrobat leapt into the gallery and grabbed his uncle's hands.

"Keep the beat!" she shouted, pulling him out onto the dance floor.

It was like someone had blown up the dam on the Great River. Suddenly there was laughter everywhere. Dignified nobles were shedding heavy outer robes and joining the troupe out on the dance floor. Class separations were forgotten as the infectious music washed over everyone and inhibitions were thrown to the wind. Zuko stared around him at his people, like he had never seen them before. And in truth, he never had. Because the laughing, smiling, joyful people in front of him were not the people he knew at Court. These people were different entirely. He felt a rush of guilt, looking at their faces, so full of…everything good. Were his people really unhappy? Was he the cause of all of this? Did it really take a troupe of travelling circus performers challenging him to make him see?

The laughing, dancing girl was in front of him. He blinked in surprise. Where had she come from? Her hair was down and tangled from dancing now. Her cheeks were flushed and her blue eyes were aglow. She breathed heavily, but a smile was firmly fixed on her lips.

"Are you not dancing my lord?" she asked.

They stood for just a moment, in absolute stillness, amid the fray. A single point of calm in the revelry. The eye of the storm. The dancing girl and the somber boy. The peasant and the king. A woman and a man.

Then she broke the spell of stillness and grabbed his hands again. He almost protested at her touch. He was a king and she was a gypsy, after all. But the laughter on her face told him that she didn't care about any of that in this moment.

"Come my lord!" She cried above the music. "It is easy to dance! All you have to do is trust me!"

And she pulled him into the fray.

* * *

He had no idea what he was doing. His head was spinning from the noise and the heat of it all. Not since he was a boy did he feel this confused and out of his element. But he let her lead him, arms above her head, into a frenzied dance. He didn't know what he was doing, but she was intoxicating with her hair flying around her, the bells on her ankles and wrists singing, her hips swaying. One foot up. Leap. Spin. One foot down. Slid. Twirl. Head thrown back. Laugh. Gasp.

Face to face, breathing hard they stared at each other for a long moment. Her hand rested on his chest, gripping the front of his red shirt. She slowly pushed away from him, dipping back impossibly low, and then pulled herself back up equally slowly. Face to face, breathing hard they stared at each other. His hands were on her waist, holding her impossibly close. She smiled, almost impishly at him and leaned in close.

"I told you I would win, my lord," she whispered in his ear. "Although I must admit, I did not expect you to be such an excellent dancer."

"I concede," he said breathlessly. The smile on his lips was an alien feeling. "You have won. The law will be rescinded in the morning."

"And you, my lord?" she asked. He looked at her. What about him? "Are you happy?"

"Yes."

* * *

The morning is a slightly more solemn affair. The travelling troupe of performers is about to take their leave. The Fire Lord has personally escorted them to the boarder of his kingdom. Curiously, the dancing girl walks at his side the whole way there. Now they stand face to face, separated by the invisible line of the boarder between the Fire Nation and the Earth Kingdom. She is on one side, he is on the other. The Troupe and the guards look away because there is something raw and unbridled about their stillness that makes them feel as though they are intruding on a private moment.

"Will you not stay?" he asks. She smiles a little sadly and shakes her head.

"I joined this troupe to see the world and there is still so much of it left," she replies. He sighs, but doesn't try to contradict her. She is for adventures and madness. He is for sedated lawmaking and peacekeeping.

"I wish you would stay," he says, unable to stop the words from coming out in a jumbled, inarticulate rush that leaves him flushed, staring at his shoes. The guards are perplexed. Who is this dancing peasant girl who disarms their great leader so easily?

"I cannot stay," she repeats. "But that is not to say that I cannot come back."

She smiles warmly and leans forward across the boarder to whisper something in the Fire Lord's ear. The guards are uncomfortable with her familiarity with him, but they do nothing. She kisses him on the cheek and then she is gone, running after her caravan, met halfway by the sullen knife thrower, the warrior with the fans and the chipper acrobat who is bubbling over with joy to see her. Together they dance and dash after the caravan, kicking up dust, and their laughter can be heard even when they are no longer in sight, swallowed up by the crest of a hill and the rising sun.

* * *

Everyone in the palace is on tenterhooks the whole day. The Fire Lord is in a strange mood. Well, a stranger mood than usual. A whole year after the law was rescinded, and the Court was still unused to seeing Lord Zuko smile or make jokes. Often it took them a few moments to realize he was joking but by then, the moment to laugh convincingly had passed. However, today he is not smiling or laughing or joking awkwardly. Today his temper is like fire. One minute he is warm and calm like a campfire and the next he is shouting, temper blazing out of control like a fire consuming a forest.

Night finally falls, and the Court follow their Lord as he makes his way to the Great Hall. His inexplicable fury can be felt all the way to the back of the group. Lord Zuko flings the doors open and everyone freezes, pulled up short by the sight in front of them. Scattered around the hall, the travelling troupe of dancers and circus performers are tossing knives back and forth, flipping through rings of fire and guffawing loudly at rude jokes. The troupe has at least doubled in size since the year before.

On the Fire Lord's throne, legs draped over one arm of the chair, back arched, head tilted back at the ceiling, is the dancing girl. Her silks are a bold blue, standing out brightly against the red and gold of the Great Hall. She has a delicate smile on her lips.

"You were supposed to be here yesterday," the Fire Lord crosses the room in only a few steps, snarling at the dancing girl. "You're late."

The troupe stops mid motion and the whole room is frozen, waiting for the next move.

The dancing girl raises her head slowly and looks the Fire Lord right in the eye.

"The Travelling Troupe of Performers of Amazing Feats is never late, my lord," she says. The direct contradiction makes the troupe laugh and the Court gasp.

"Oh?" the Fire Lord raises his eyebrow and smirks.

"No, my lord," The dancing girl rises from the throne like water. "Everyone else is simply early."

In the seconds it takes for the music to start playing the dancing girl is down the steps. And as the rest of the troupe flood the floor of the Hall and pull the courtiers into the party, the Fire Lord has the dancing girl in his arms. He holds her like he'll never let her go and she holds him like she doesn't want to leave the next morning.

But he will let her go, and she will leave in the morning. And it will be another year until they are together again. But that doesn't matter right now because they are together, dancing, laughing, always just a breath away from touching again. And he knows that the year after she leaves will be a long one, and she knows that the year until she sees him again will only be half the fun, but she still goes because she has adventures to find and he still lets her go because she is so alive.

And with her hands in his hair and his arms around her waist, so close to each other in the shadows of the garden outside the Hall, she breathes a promise in his ear that when she's seen the world and travelled she will come back and she'll stay and she'll tell him all her stories and adventures. And, from the way he grips her waist and kisses her hard, she knows he'll hold her to it.

* * *

**note:** _I have written a thing. I have no idea what i'm doing with my life. School starts again tomorrow. And my eyebrows are slightly uneven._

_Drop a review if you liked the story! Please&ThankYou!_


End file.
